Sleepless
by cyrilandshirley
Summary: A Brendan POV, set in the hotel.


**Sleepless**

_For Maya_

I know he's not sleeping. He's lying on his front in the bed, his head turned towards me, resting on his arms. And I can see one of those damn grey blue eyes looking up at me, the way that he does. The arch of one eyebrow. He has this half-smile thing going on. He fucking should. I've given him enough to smile about.

I lie propped on one elbow and just look at him, turning my gum over in my mouth with my tongue. I don't know what it is, but I hear a laugh in the back of my throat, which he seems to draw out of me with that half-smile thing. I don't usually bother much with this, the bit afterwards. I haven't felt any need. Not for a long time, anyway. I did, once. But it was a long time ago. They say the past's a different country, don't they? There's no plane or ferry can take you there. And anyway, he died. I haven't thought about him much until now. Now. Here. With him.

I don't get much chance, just to look at him like this, stretched out, satisfied. Usually, it's all glances and touches and the occasional clashing of mouths when the office is free and no-one's around. And that has its buzz. But now, he just lies there, and I watch him, the muscles of his back slightly falling and rising with his breathing. He's pulled the sheet half over him and it rests just below his waist, draped across his hips, rumpled over his backside. That backside.

I drag my eyes away from the fucking irresistible curve of it and back up to his head, the way his hair is all mussed, and the line where his hair meets the top of his neck, kind of vulnerable. I don't know what's with me, because I really don't do touchy feely. But my hand seems to reach out of its own accord, and touches the back of his neck, soft. His body responds, flexes, relaxes, under my hand, and he looks at me, wondering, out of that one grey blue eye that I can see. My fingers find their way down his spine, knuckle of bone by knuckle of bone, feeling his skinny body vibrate under my hand. He bites his lip a bit as it finds its way down to the warm hollow of his back and meets the sheet. I pick it up between two fingers and pull it back so I can see his arse. He has this perfect fucking little arse that would make me crazy - if I let it. It's like two perfect globes, light golden brown. I put my hand over one of them, gently, run my thumb over it, feel its warmth, and then almost shake myself. What the fuck is up with me? I give it a sharp squeeze instead. His eyebrow goes up. I find I'm grinning. And then I sit up, and bend over him, and plant a kiss, lingering, just on his left cheek, and leave my lips very close, savouring the response. He props himself up on his elbows and looks round.

"Brendan … what're you _doing?_"

I look up at him.

"Kissing it better," I say, flashing him a smile. "What did you think?" Because I've been a bit rough with that little arse, tonight.

His breath seems to come short between his lips, slightly open. But he tries to be casual. "You're freaking me out …" he says. But I know he likes it.

"Would you rather I did this, Stephen?" I say, and I bare my teeth, scrape the lower ones lightly across the surface of the flesh of one of his buttocks, and give him a bit of a nip.

I look up again. And he's just transfixed, breathing, looking back over one shoulder. But as soon as he clocks that I'm looking, he pulls a frown.

"Ow," he says. "Geddof …"

I give his backside a last pat, and I hear myself laugh again. I come back up to lie alongside him, propped, and go back to chewing the gum.

"You love it," I say, giving him my best insolent grin.

He buries his face in his arms again for a moment, but when he reemerges, and I can see that eye again, there's no way he's hiding that smile.

He yawns, his face stretching and relaxing, and gives his head a shake. It's late and we should probably get some sleep. It's gone four. But we're both used to being up into the small hours, working at the club. We're never finished before two, even on a quiet night. I've got used to kipping in the day, getting whatever I need when I can. Most of the time, I can sleep anywhere, nothing bothers me. But sometimes there are things in my head that I can't keep quiet. Only my sister knows that; she caught me wandering round the flat a couple of nights, pouring a whisky. She gave me this eye mask. A joke, I guess. She's a fine one, my sister. But actually, it kind of helps. I close the curtains, block out the world. Works a treat.

I don't feel like sleeping now, though. My body has this pulse running through it that needs to slow. And anyway, I didn't bring him here to sleep. I brought him here to fuck him.

His face was a picture when I let him in the door. It's anonymous, but pretty classy here. There's no way I'd take him to some dodgy B&B. I've got standards, for Christ's sake. I never really thought, that he'd not have been anywhere like this before. Big bed. Mini-bar. En suite. He was like a stranger in paradise.

I pulled the curtains, and poured us a couple of slugs from the minibar, while he shifted from foot to foot. I think maybe he thought I'd just push him on to the bed and fuck him right there, so he looked a bit unsure. And I could have. I could have, right there. Fuck knows I'd been thinking about it all night, every time he brushed past me. Every time I realised that he was watching me, and I felt the hairs prickling on the back of my neck, and I caught him looking. I thought he'd look away, but he didn't. He surprises me. He risked a smile, instead. Funny how hard it is not to smile back when he does that. It's fucking unnerving sometimes. I made a point of catching him downstairs, when he was fetching an extra crate.

"Got to go home tonight?" I asked him.

He paused for a second, looking down at his hands gripping the crate. As if he wasn't sure. Then looked up at me. "Not really. Amy's there. Why?" He raised his eyebrows.

"Hotel in town. Fancy it?" I leaned in just enough. He bit his lip. Then he looked up at me, defiant.

"I don't get paid enough for that," he said.

I leaned in just a little bit more. "And I don't pay for that," I said, and watched him blush. "But I think I can cover the hotel room. If you're up for it, that is." I raised my eyebrows now.

He looked up, and he started to get that smile again. The one which curves his mouth but only just shows the edges of his teeth. The one he can't stop coming. He nodded. "OK." He looked turned on. I felt a buzz, just starting, in my brain. And other places. It's like this little trip switch, that smile of his. It turns the fucking lights on in my head. I get this little shot of electricity in my ribcage. And my fucking cock twitches.

I couldn't resist. It was insane probably, because anyone could have walked in right there, but I gave him a little taster. I leant in and grabbed a kiss. Except it wasn't as quick as I meant. He makes me want to take my time, I don't know why that is. So it was kind of slow, and I just felt his mouth open, like a promise. Slid my tongue inside, touched his. And pulled away, leaving him wanting more. I think it was him wanting more anyway.

I like rooms like this – impersonal, away from the world. It's less risky. And there's more chance to spread out, take your time, like breathing out when you've been holding it in for a long time. More time to explore, more places. While he was drinking the whisky, I stuck my head around the door of the en suite, flicked the light on. Not bad. Usual thing. White, pristine, spotlit, those big fluffy towels you get, heated rails. Seemed a shame to waste it. And there wouldn't be time in the morning. There never was. I'd have to chuck him out, give him the taxi fare home, before I paid off the room. That's just the way it has to be. That's how this works.

I glanced back at him. He looked a bit knackered, his hair flat and lank on his head, but then we'd both been on our feet for hours. Not exactly the lad who scrubbed himself up nice when I took him out that first time. And then took him back to mine. His best shirt, and his hair all combed. I don't need that, I don't care, I could have had him right there and then. I like it, the smell of the sweat on him. It turns me on. But there are other ways of turning me on.

I opened the shower cubicle, reached inside, and twisted on the jet. He looked at me, still unsure.

"Take your clothes off then," I said to him. I was half smiling, teasing him. And buzzing with an adrenalin rush that I'd never let him see. While he hesitated, I shed mine, the suit and the shirt that I wear to show people who I am, that I'm Brendan Brady, that I mean business and you'd better know it. Brendan Brady, club owner, deal-maker. Ladies' man. I peeled off that identity with the suit, chucked it on a chair, and got in under the water.

It gave me a chance to lean against the tiles, letting the warm water pour over my shoulders, and watch him through the steam while he came into the bathroom, closed the door with one hand, put his drink down, and turned to look at me. Then he started to undress.

There's still something self-conscious about him that I like, a bit awkward. He pulled off his clothes, leaving them in this crumpled heap on the floor. And I let myself watch that body emerge from underneath. Light, skinny, almost scrawny. The shoulder blades standing out on his back as he turned away. The little brown nubs of his nipples as he turned back towards me. I knew my heart was starting to thump, slow and heavy, like a drum beat in my chest. He eased his trousers down over his hips, and then his boxers. I got a flash of that tattoo, winged, on his hip, and felt myself starting to harden for him. And then he was naked, standing there like he was made for me, that dick swinging between his legs, tantalising.

And then he stepped into the shower, stood opposite me, and looked up, as if he was waiting for me to make my move.

"Hello," I said, contemplating him, smiling.

"Hello," he said. And gave me that smile back. The one where he knows what's coming to him.

I decided to make him wait for it. I grabbed the shower gel with one hand, squirted a load onto his bare chest, and then started to lather it up. He laughed, a bit disbelieving, and let me. And then put out his hands and transferred some of the foam from his own body back on to me, rubbing it into the hair on my chest. When I worked my way down to his ribs, he stopped laughing. His hand flew up, suddenly, and covered the place where he's still sore. His eyes met mine, wary. I thought for a second he might pull away. But I put my hand over his hand, and pulled it away, gently. And carried on lathering, taking care, looking at him from time to time, making sure I didn't lose contact. I didn't want to hurt him. I never wanted to hurt him really. It just had to be done. And there'll be no hurting him tonight. Not in that way, anyway.

He let me carry on working my hands down his body, rubbing foam down over the curves of that arse, and then I reached my hand between his legs and put a hand under his balls. He closed his eyes, bit his lip, and gave a sort of whimper. His cock stirred. I knew then that I had him, that he was coming back to me. I grinned.

Then I took my hand away, grabbed the shower head, pointed it over us, and let it wash the foam away, slick down over our bodies, leaving us just standing there, looking at each other. He smiled, again. An invitation, I guess. Rude to refuse.

I leant forward and backed him onto the other side of the cubicle, and placed one hand either side of his head against the tiles. He didn't stop smiling. So I kissed him.

After that it was mainly instinct, really. Something I allow to kick in and take me over. Usually, even in the heat of it, there's always a part of me that I hold back. But what gets me about him is, he's completely abandoned. It doesn't seem to bother him at all. He wants it, really badly, and he doesn't care that he shows me, leaves himself wide open. His hands took a grip in my hair, his mouth was clamped against my mouth, his tongue rubbed against my tongue, and his body pressed itself against me. His cock hardened against mine as I pushed him against the tiles with my hips, and he moaned. I could have let myself go with that feeling, I felt like I was on the brink of completely letting everything go, but I pulled back, my breathing heavy, and watched him pant.

"Stop …" I said, and watched a shadow of doubt and confusion cross his face. Until I put my hands on his shoulders. We looked at each other as I rubbed his collar bones with my thumbs, and then pushed downwards, just enough. And then he wasn't in any doubt any more. He got down onto his knees. And I watched as he crouched, opened his mouth, and put it around my cock.

He is very good at this. He seems hungry, but controlled at the same time, and I like that. His mouth is … his mouth is … fuck, his mouth makes me want to grab the back of his head and make him give me what I want. But I settled for leaning against the tiles, my head resting back, burying my hand in his wet hair, feeling the water run down over my chest while his mouth, the suction, the rough licking of his tongue, firm and rhythmic, the feeling of his hands circled round the back of my thighs, brought me right to the point where I rock my hips towards his face, feel my muscles clench, a long exhalation escaping from my mouth, and a white heat of release running through my cock. For a couple of moments, I don't know where the fuck I am, and I don't fucking well care, but then I was looking down at him between narrowed eyelids, and his face came into focus, looking up at me, and I felt a wash of something … something that runs towards him. Something that makes me want to wrap my arms around him. I must be going soft.

He stood up, facing up to me, looking pretty pleased with himself. I laughed, short.

"Are we done here, then?" he asked me. "Want me to go?" He knows the answer. He's being fucking cheeky.

"Want to go home?" I asked him, eyebrows raised. "Cos … you can go … if you want to, that is."

He just shook his head, slowly, looking me in the eye. I shifted my weight from the wall I was leaning on and backed him towards the tiles again. One hand strayed down one of his skinny arms, from shoulder to wrist, clasping my fingers around it.

"Think you're pretty clever, don't ya?" I said to him.

And he nodded, giving me that fucking knowing smile. "I've got hidden talents, me," he said.

"Oh yeah?" I said, my mouth very close to his. "Well let's see if I can find them, shall we?"

I could feel his excitement, against me, his expectation. I relished it, for a moment, how much he wanted it, as I bent my head, and leant forward, and kissed him in the curve where his neck meets his shoulder. He shivered.

And then I turned the jet off with one hand, walked right out of the shower leaving him dripping, grabbed a towel, and threw a second one at his head.

He followed me through to the bedroom as I was towelling myself dry. I sat on the bed and watched him as he walked over, stark naked but rubbing roughly at his hair with the towel, his eyes screwed up. He does something to me, when he screws his face up like that.

"Oi," I said, getting his attention. "Come here, then." I can hear the tone in my voice. It's the one I use to get him to do what I want. All I have to do is soften it a bit, lower it, and he comes. But then, maybe he wants to come. He comes close now and I take him between my legs, placing my hands on his hips. He's still clutching that wet towel, so I grab it and chuck it aside, and put my head on one side to contemplate what's in front of me. Which is his cock. He has a very nice cock. And it's strange how when I lean forward, pull him towards me, and kiss it on the tip, nice and slow, it swells again and stiffens, and his breath comes, short, and his body seems to blush all over. He glows. But his eyes are still curious, like he wants to see what I'm gonna do. Like he's waiting for me to show him. And this is the fun part.

I loop an arm around his waist and pull him down onto the bed with me, and then roll him onto his back. It fucking kills me how he just parts his legs for me now, ready for me, and wraps them around my waist, like he can't get enough. And I let myself enjoy that, kissing him, running my tongue over his teeth, pushing myself against him, and touching whatever I can get hold of, which is most of him. But we're not playing this game this way tonight. There are other games.

Just when he's starting to moan into my mouth, I pull back, and kneel up. He looks at me.

"What?" he asks. As if he's not sure what's happening. As if I might be changing the rules again. And I guess I am.

"On your front," I say, and I grab one hip and roll him over.

I take the chance to take a long hard look at his arse. The cleft between those cheeks. The dark line of it.

He looks back over a shoulder. "What now?" he asks me. He just never shuts up. I give up. Maybe I'll have to give him something to shout about.

"On your knees," I say, and he bites his lip, and pulls his legs under him, resting his weight on his forearms.

And there it is. All mine. His arse. I kneel there and wonder why it does to me what it does. But not for long. I slide both of my thumbs between his cheeks and pull them apart. His body stiffens, but I can see what I'm aiming for now, the puckered entry. I lean forward, smiling to myself a bit, and just blow, gently.

"Wha …" he starts to say, but I don't give him the chance to get any further. I get right in there with my mouth, and plant a kiss on that entry, rubbing it with my lips. He seems to almost shake.

"Oh …" he says, sounding kind of surprised, " … ohh …"

And then I get in even closer, and I put out my tongue, and I touch him with it, hold it there for one second while he understands what's happening, and then … I go in.

He's hot in there. And tight. And dark. And sort of sweet. I've got my own business to attend to, but I can hear what's going on at the other end. It's not making a lot of sense in actual words, but I know what it means.

_Oh … fu … fu … ohh … fu …_

It means no one's ever tongue fucked me like this before. No. I'll bet.

His breath is coming hard now, as I slide my tongue in and out, coiling and twisting, and his voice becomes higher, more like a keening. And I'm guessing he's ready now. I pull out, leaving him wet, and hutch up to kneel closer in behind him. I cover up, grab the lube and give me and him a quick slick, outside and as far in as I can get with a finger, while he winces and squirms. And then I line myself up against him, and push in, closing my eyes for a second as I relish the feeling of my cock sliding inside him. Jesus. I can tell myself this is just sex all I like, but there is something about this. His body seems to wrap around mine, taking me further in, holding me with a grip so tight I can barely think. I feel sweat break out on my forehead, as I pull partially out, and then push, hard, back in.

_Oh fuck!_ he says, his head dropping down onto his arms to brace himself.

And I pull out again, and slam in, feeling my pelvis hit his, and hearing my own breath hold and then exhale in a grunt. And then we start to get into a rhythm. And he starts to moan, kind of high. At times, it's almost like a scream. He's noisy, this one. There's only one way I've ever found to keep him quiet and that's if I lie on top of him and cover his mouth with mine. He still yells, but it goes straight into me. I wouldn't care, really. I kinda like it, that what I'm doing to him travels right through his body and comes out like that, like a cry. If I didn't have to think about who's gonna hear it, it would be fine. I guess that's not a problem here. The same's probably going on in most of the rooms here. And if there was someone outside, they're not gonna know who we are. We're just two blokes. Who happen to be having sex. It's nothing. We're nobody.

I drag every ounce of my senses together to try to keep control, to keep from coming, to make it last, because the heat, and the tightness of his body around my cock, the pulse of the movement, my balls hitting his backside, the tension in his back, and the sounds coming from his mouth, are making me want to fucking explode. This is what I do. I control it. I am in control. It is a fucking buzz, to be in control.

But as I'm building up some speed, something changes. He shifts his weight onto one arm, and the other reaches behind, and I feel his fingers clutch at the back of my thigh, pulling me into him.

Fuck. It disarms me, almost completely. He wants it, all this. He wants me, like this. Maybe it's him, all along. Maybe it's him, pulling me in. Not me taking him. I'm not sure I can have that. I have to get him to let go, even though part of me wants him to hang on.

I reach round in front of him and grab his cock, wrapping my fingers around it as tightly as his body is holding mine. His body almost jerks with shock, and his fingers uncurl from my leg. He puts both arms down again and braces, as I start to pump him, inside and out. My other hand grips his hip, the fingers digging hard into the flesh at the top of his thigh.

So this is the point when we can both stop thinking. It's just bodies this, isn't it? It's just sweat and blood pumping in your veins, and your balls aching and getting ready to unload, and clutching and grabbing and pumping. It's impersonal. Except those noises, coming out of his mouth.

_Oh fuck! … oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck … fuck … fuck … OH FUCK! … Brendan! …_

He calls out my name. And his cock throbs in my hand as it pumps a warm wetness onto the sheets underneath him, trickling over my fingers.

He called out my fucking name. For all the world to fucking hear. But I can't do a fucking thing about it, because I come, hard, inside him. It almost hurts, it's so fucking sudden. I just let go, let it shoot through me, let the contraction of his muscles pull it from me, fluid and hot, while I push against it, into it, through it.

It takes a while before I can move, see clearly. I shake my head, a bit dazed. Fuck, that was … that was good. But it was on the brink of me losing control of it, all the time. What is this thing about him that seems like he is stealing control away from me?

I withdraw from him, and I hear him sigh, and moan, and he collapses forward flat on the bed. He looks spent. As my body pulls away from his, and I clean up, I try to focus, feel that I am snapping back into myself, the person I have to be. It was just sex. It was just sex, after all, and I was in control the whole time. I'll forget about those other feelings, where it felt like he was the one who was willing it to happen. Like he'd put some spell on me, or something. That's nuts, I know that. I really think sometimes he is driving me crazy.

It was actually kind of amusing, seeing him lying there, panting and completely satisfied, by me. I smiled, and crawled forward over the top of him, covering his body with mine.

"OK?" I asked him, nuzzling his shoulder for a moment.

He propped himself up a bit on his elbows and looked round. He said nothing, but his lips were partly open, and his eyes were sort of shiny when he looked at me. So I put a hand on his face, turned it as far towards me as it could go, and felt his mouth looking for mine. This is what he likes. He likes me to kiss him after. I don't mind. It suits me. His mouth is warm and completely accepting. It makes me forget things, his mouth. It makes me forget that in a few hours, it'll be daylight again, and we'll check out and go back to that other life, out there. Where none of this ever happened. Where it isn't real, the taste of his mouth, and the sweat on him and me, and the heat of his body under mine.

As our mouths pull apart, he's smiling, and I feel that I'm fucking smiling again too. Christ, I'll be buying him flowers next. But what the fuck. I think I'm entitled to smile, after that performance. My thumb and finger tweak his chin and push it away from me, making him laugh, and I lift myself off and come to lie alongside him as he reaches for the covers with one hand and pulls them up over him. He gets cold easily, when I'm not keeping him warm. I think that's it, anyway. It can't be modesty. Bit late for that after where my tongue's been tonight.

I reach for a stick of gum, lazy and hardly wanting to move. And that's how I come to be lying here, watching him yawn, his breathing slow and regular, his body wanting to slide towards sleep.

After a while, he rolls onto his side, and looks at me. The sheet is still low over his hips and I can see his cock, soft now, between his legs in that bed of light brown hair.

He rumples his forehead.

"Am I staying?" he asks me.

What does he think I am? That I'd put him out on the street at four thirty in the fucking morning?

"I don't know," I say, leaving him guessing. "Are you?"

He curls one arm under his head, cradling the pillow. Pouts a bit. "I thought you might chuck me out."

It almost shocks me. I suppose I would have, if it was my flat. But that's why we're here, I guess. It's safe. I can keep him with me. We can be together. For a while.

"Come here," I say, in reply, and reach out an arm to him.

For a second, he hesitates. Then grins, and shifts his body close into mine, to lie in the crook of my arm, while I pull the covers right up over us, to stop him getting cold. This is only the second time we've done this, lie together. His body is warm and light and slender and relaxed and fits against mine. He smells of fresh sweat and sex. I can feel the beat of his heart, through the side of his ribcage. His hand takes hold of my wrist, holding my arm around him, and his face turns towards me. And I don't want him to go anywhere. For the first time, I don't want him to go, the person who's lying next to me. I don't want to get up and leave, and I don't have to.

I turn my head and my lips touch his hair, still just a bit damp, and rumpled. I breathe him in, the smell of his hair, drying. I like the feel of it, against my mouth.

"We should get some rest," I say.

"Yeah," is all he says, sounding half way there already.

I reach out my other hand and flick off the light, and feel us surrounded by darkness, held together by it like a force. His body presses against mine, his hands still on my arm. Suddenly, he speaks.

"Will it be like this in the morning?" he asks me. His voice is soft but it sounds flat, as if he already knows what the answer is.

I put my mouth in his hair again. "Go to sleep," I say.

And he makes a small noise, like a sort of acceptance, and goes quiet.

This is the point at which I sometimes have trouble. In these early hours, when I know that the morning's gonna come and I have something to sort out. Sometimes, my brain just ticks and ticks until I have sorted it. And then I can sleep. And I know I will have to sort this out. I always do. I will have to send him away. Letting him get so close, this is trouble. We can't be like this out there. I will pay for it later. That's one of the things I learned, pretty young. You slip up, you pay for it. You get hurt. And not just me, I can take it, but other people get hurt. People that I … people who matter to me. I can't afford to slip up. That's what keeps me awake at night.

But somehow, tonight, it's different. I lie there and hold him, and I feel his breathing, his chest rising and falling, becoming more regular, and more slow. It's like an echoing beat, that slows my heart as well, my pulse. He gives a couple of heavy sighs, and I can't work out if they are out of satisfaction, or sadness. Or just exhaustion. Maybe a bit of all three. And then his body twitches, and his hands relax on my arm, and I think he's gone. Just like that. Like nothing bothers him.

I feel something towards him that I can't describe, lying there asleep with his head resting against my shoulder. Something I normally only feel for a handful of people - family, mostly. The ones with the bonds you can't break, even if you bloody wanted to. Protective, I think. Yeah, I think that's what it is.

I thought he wasn't like me, he couldn't be. To be able to sleep like that. He hasn't seen the things I've had to see, done the things I've had to do. But he's told me things. He's had it pretty rough, I think. And he worries sometimes, about his kids, about money. He's had his share of sleepless nights. So maybe he's more like me than I think. Maybe he just sleeps better with my arm around him. The same way that his heartbeat and his breathing seem to be taking me down with him, my mind relaxing and my muscles uncoiling. I don't know what it is. But I don't need a mask when he's here, that's for sure.

He stirs and moans, softly.

I close my eyes.

"Stephen," I say, quietly, into the darkness.

"Mmmm," comes back from him, but I really don't think he can understand me. He throws an arm across my body and sinks back into silence.

I stroke it, that arm across my waist. My fingers run over the fine hairs that cover his skin there. There are things I could say. A lot of things. But I don't think I have the words for any of them. Things about how I won't let anyone hurt him. Things that'll tell him that it'll be all right. That we'll be all right. Whatever the fuck that means, because I sure as hell don't believe in happy endings. But no words come. Strange, because normally, I'm good with words.

"Sleep tight," I say, in the end.

I lean my head towards his own, unconscious. And I stop fighting. Stop thinking. Just feel him, his body, his warmth. And as I let go, I know what I want. Funny how sometimes things can become clear in your head, when you stop struggling. I want this, us, here, now. The morning can take care of itself.

And I let myself slip under the surface, and join him.


End file.
